She was made of winter dew melting on the grass and poppies painting fields of orange in the green the places where we were made up unmade up Warwick Slade and Lucy Hill. Catching hold of stars between thumb and forefinger gathering the tall trees the shadow clouds and breeze. Then one day I fell asleep and when I woke up she was gone. The title is from Benoite Groult’s description of lovemaking in ‘Salt on our Skin.’As with much of this album, it’s about Kathy. |
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